PS  1M 

.C85 

B6 

1905b 


THE  BLACK  RIDERS  AND 

OTHER  LINES 

BY  STEPHEN  CRANE 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


^1 


^    v 


Sfc 


-9 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


y 


O  r 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


10001870156 


•s  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
*ast  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


ARRJLOL* 


JUN1  D99E 


. 


MAR  % 


8  0  201 


f\ 


JW2  5MU 


iw 


Mi 


0 i  2BB 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


THE  BLACK  RIDERS  AND 

OTHER  LINES 

BY  STEPHEN  CRANE 


PRIVATELY  REPRINTED 
BY  COURTESY  OF  SMALL, 
MAYNARD    &    COMPANY 

Copyright,   1905,  by  Copeland  &  Day 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/blackridersotherOOcran_0 


Black  Riders  came  from  the  sea. 
There  was  clang  and  clang  of  spear  and 

shield, 
And  clash  and  clash  of  hoof  and  heel, 
Wild  shouts  and  the  wave  of  hair 
In  the  rush  upon  the  wind: 
Thus  the  ride  of  Sin. 


4Vt 


II 


Three  little  birds  in  a  row 

Sat  musing. 

A  man  passed  near  that  place. 

Then  did  the  little  birds  nudge  each 

other. 
They  said,  "He  thinks  he  can  sing." 
They  threw  back  their  heads  to  laugh, 
With  quaint  countenances 
They  regarded  him. 
They  were  very  curious, 
Those  three  little  birds  in  a  row. 


Ill 


In  the  desert 

I  saw  a  creature,  naked,  bestial, 

Who,  squatting  upon  the  ground, 

Held  his  heart  in  his  hands, 

And  ate  of  it. 

I  said,  "Is  it  good,  friend ?." 

"It  is  bitter — bitter,"  he  answered; 

"But  I  like  it 

"Because  it  is  bitter, 

"And  because  it  is  my  heart." 


VI 

God  fashioned  the  ship  of  the  world  care- 
fully 

With  the  infinite  skill  of  an  All-Master 

Made  He  the  hull  and  the  sails, 

Held  He  the  rudder 

Ready  for  adjustment. 

Erect  stood  He,  scanning  his  work 
proudly. 

Then — at  fateful  time — a  Wrong  called, 

And  God  turned,  heeding. 

Lo,  the  ship,  at  this  opportunity,  slipped 
slyly, 

Making  cunning  noiseless  travel  down  the 
ways. 

So  that,  forever  rudderless,  it  went  upon 
the  seas 

Going  ridiculous  voyages, 

Making  quaint  progress, 

Turning  as  with  serious  purpose 

Before  stupid  winds. 

And  there  were  many  in  the  sky 

Who  laughed  at  this  thing. 


1 


VII 

Mystic  Shadow,  bending  near  me, 

Who  art  thou? 

Whence  come  ye  ? 

And — tell  me — is  it  fair 

Or  is  the  truth  bitter  as  eaten  fire? 

Tell  me! 

Fear  not  that  I  should  quaver, 

For  I  dare — I  dare. 

Then,  tell  me! 


VIII 

I  looked  here; 

I  looked  there; 

Nowhere  could  I  see  my  love. 

And — this  time — 

She  was  in  my  heart. 

Truly,  then,  I  have  no  complaint, 

For  though  she  be  fair  and  fairer, 

She  is  none  so  fair  as  she 

In  my  heart. 


IX 


I  stood  upon  a  high  place, 

And  saw,  below,  many  devils 

Running,  leaping, 

And  carousing  in  sin. 

One  looked  up,  grinning, 

And  said,  "Comrade!   Brother!" 


Should  the  wide  world  roll  away, 

Leaving  black  terror, 

Limitless  night, 

Nor  God,  nor  man,  nor  place  to  stand 

Would  be  to  me  essential, 

If  thou  and  thy  white  arms  were  there, 

And  the  fall  to  doom  a  long  way. 


XI 


In  a  lonely  place, 

I  encountered  a  sage 

Who  sat,  all  still, 

Regarding  a  newspaper. 

He  accosted  me: 

"Sir,  what  is  this ?" 

Then  I  saw  that  I  was  greater, 

Aye,  greater  than  this  sage. 

I  answered  him  at  once, 

"Old,  old  man,  it  is  the, wisdom  of  the 

age. 
The  sage  looked  upon  me  with  admiration 


XII 

"  and  the  sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be 
visited  upon  the  heads  of  the  children, 
even  unto  the  third  and  fourth 
generation  of  them  that  hate  me." 

Well,  then,  I  hate  thee,  Unrighteous 

Picture; 
Wicked  Image,  I  hate  thee; 
So,  strike  with  thy  vengeance 
The  heads  of  those  little  men 
Who  come  blindly. 
It  will  be  a  brave  thing. 


XIII 

If  there  is  a  witness  to  my  little  life, 
To  my  tiny  throes  and  struggles, 
He  sees  a  fool; 

And  it  is  not  fine  for  gods  to  menace 
fools. 


XIV 

There  was  crimson  clash  of  war. 

Lands  turned  black  and  bare; 

Women  wept; 

Babes  ran,  wondering. 

There  came  one  who  understood  not  these 

things. 
He  said,  "Why  is  this?" 
Whereupon  a  million  strove  to  answer 

him. 
There  was  such  intricate  clamor  of 

tongues, 
That  still  the  reason  was  not. 


XV 

"Tell  brave  deeds  of  war." 

Then  they  recounted  tales, — 
"There  were  stern  stands 
"And  bitter  runs  for  glory." 

Ah,  I  think  there  were  braver  deeds, 


XVI 

Chanty,  thou  art  a  lie, 

A  toy  of  women, 

A  pleasure  of  certain  men. 

In  the  presence  of  justice, 

Lo,  the  walls  of  the  temple 

Are  visible 

Through  thy  form  of  sudden  shadows 


XVII 

There  were  many  who  went  in  huddled 

procession, 
They  knew  not  whither; 
But,  at  any  rate,  success  or  calamity 
Would  attend  all  in  equality. 

There  was  one  who  sought  a  new  road. 
He  went  into  direful  thickets, 
And  ultimately  he  died  thus,  alone; 
But  they  said  he  had  courage. 


XVIII 
In  Heaven, 


i? 


Some  little  blades  of  grass 

Stood  before  God. 

"What  did  you  do?" 

Then  all  save  one  of  the  little  blades 

Began  eagerly  to  relate 

The  merits  of  their  lives. 

This  one  stayed  a  small  way  behind, 

Ashamed. 

Presently,  God  said, 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

The  little  blade  answered,  "Oh,  my  Lord, 

"Memory  is  bitter  to  me, 

"For,  if  I  did  good  deeds, 

"I  know  not  of  them." 

Then  God,  in  all  His  splendor, 

Arose  from  His  throne. 

"Oh,  best  little  blade  of  grass!"   He  said. 


XIX 

A  god  in  wrath 

Was  beating  a  man; 

He  cuffed  him  loudly 

With  thunderous  blows 

That  rang  and  rolled  over  the  earth. 

All  people  came  running. 

The  man  screamed  and  struggled, 

And  bit  madly  at  the  feet  of  the  god 

The  people  cried, 

"Ah,  what  a  wicked  man!" 

And— 

"Ah,  what  a  redoubtable  god!" 


XX 

A  learned  man  came  to  me  once. 
He  said,  "I  know  the  way, — come." 
And  I  was  overjoyed  at  this. 
Together  we  hastened. 
Soon,  too  soon,  were  we 
Where  my  eyes  were  useless, 
And  I  knew  not  the  ways  of  my  feet. 
I  clung  to  the  hand  of  my  friend; 
But  at  last  he  cried,  "I  am  lost." 


XXI 

There  was,  before  me, 

Mile  upon  mile 

Of  snow,  ice,  burning  sand. 

And  yet  I  could  look  beyond  all  this, 

To  a  place  of  infinite  beauty; 

And  I  could  see  the  loveliness  of  her 

Who  walked  in  the  shade  of  the  trees, 

When  I  gazed, 

All  was  lost 

But  this  place  of  beauty  and  her. 

When  I  gazed, 

And  in  my  gazing,  desired, 

Then  came  again 

Mile  upon  mile, 

Of  snow,  ice,  burning  sand. 


XXII 

Once  I  saw  Mountains  angry, 

And  ranged  in  battle-front. 

Against  them  stood  a  little  man; 

Aye,  he  was  no  bigger  than  my  finger. 

I  laughed,  and  spoke  to  one  near  me, 

"Will  he  prevail?" 

"Surely,"  replied  this  other; 

"His  grandfathers  beat  them  many  times." 

Then  did  I  see  much  virtue  in 

grandfathers, — 
At  least,  for  the  little  man 
Who  stood  against  the  Mountains. 


XXIII 

Places  among  the  stars, 

Soft  gardens  near  the  sun, 

Keep  your  distant  beauty; 

Shed  no  beams  upon  my  weak  heart. 

Since  she  is  here 

In  a  place  of  blackness, 

Not  your  golden  days 

Nor  your  silver  nights 

Can  call  me  to  you. 

Since  she  is  here 

In  a  place  of  blackness, 

Here  I  stay  and  wait. 


XXIV 

I  saw  a  man  pursuing  the  horizon; 

Round  and  round  they  sped. 

I  was  disturbed  at  this; 

I  accosted  the  man. 

"It  is  futile/'  I  said, 

"You  can  never'5 — 

"You  lie,"  he  cried, 
And  ran  on. 


XXV 

Behold,  the  grave  of  a  wicked  man, 
And  near  it,  a  stern  spirit. 

There  came  a  drooping  maid  with  violets, 

But  the  spirit  grasped  her  arm. 

"No  flowers  for  him,"  he  said. 

The  maid  wept: 

"Ah,  I  loved  him." 

But  the  spirit,  grim  and  frowning: 

"No  flowers  for  him." 

Now,  this  is  it — 

If  the  spirit  was  just, 

Why  did  the  maid  weep  ? 


XXVI 

There  was  set  before  me  a  mighty  hill, 

And  long  days  I  climbed 

Through  regions  of  snow. 

When  I  had  before  me  the  summit-view, 

It  seemed  that  my  labor 

Had  been  to  see  gardens 

Lying  at  impossible  distances. 


XXVII 

A  youth  in  apparel  that  glittered 

Went  to  walk  in  a  grim  forest. 

There  he  met  an  assassin 

Attired  all  in  garb  of  old  days; 

He,  scowling  through  the  thickets, 

And  dagger  poised  quivering, 

Rushed  upon  the  youth. 

"Sir/5  said  this  latter, 

"I  am  enchanted,  believe  me, 

"To  die,  thus, 

"In  this  medieval  fashion, 

"According  to  the  best  legends; 

"Ah,  what  joy!" 

Then  took  he  the  wound,  smiling, 

And  died,  content. 


XXVIII 

"Truth,"  said  a  traveller, 

"Is  a  rock,  a  mighty  fortress; 

"Often  have  I  been  to  it, 

"Even  to  its  highest  tower, 

"From  whence  the  world  looks  black." 

"Truth,"  said  a  traveller, 
"Is  a  breath,  a  wind, 
"A  shadow,  a  phantom; 
"Long  have  I  pursued  it, 
"But  never  have  I  touched 
"The  hem  of  its  garment." 

And  I  believed  the  second  traveller; 

For  truth  was  to  me 

A  breath,  a  wind, 

A  shadow,  a  phantom, 

And  never  had  I  touched 

The  hem  of  its  garment. 


XXIX 

Behold,  from  the  land  of  the  farther 

suns 
I  returned. 

And  I  was  in  a  reptile-swarming  place, 
Peopled,  otherwise,  with  grimaces, 
Shrouded  above  in  black  impenetrableness. 
I  shrank,  loathing, 
Sick  with  it. 
And  I  said  to  him, 
"What  is  this?" 
He  made  answer  slowly, 
"Spirit,  this  is  a  world; 
"This  was  your  home." 


XXX 

Supposing  that  I  should  have  the  courage 

To  let  a  red  sword  of  virtue 

Plunge  into  my  heart, 

Letting  to  the  weeds  of  the  ground 

My  sinful  blood, 

What  can  you  offer  me? 

A  gardened  castle  ? 

A  flowery  kingdom  ? 

What?     A  hope? 

Then  hence  with  your  red  sword  of  virtue, 


XXXI 

Many  workmen 

Built  a  huge  ball  of  masonry 

Upon  a  mountain-top. 

Then  they  went  to  the  valley  below, 

And  turned  to  behold  their  work. 

"It  is  grand/'  they  said; 

They  loved  the  thing. 

Of  a  sudden,  it  moved : 

It  came  upon  them  swiftly; 

It  crushed  them  all  to  blood. 

But  some  had  opportunity  to  squeal. 


XXXII 

Two  or  three  angels 

Came  near  to  the  earth. 

They  saw  a  fat  church. 

Little  black  streams  of  people 

Came  and  went  in  continually. 

And  the  angels  were  puzzled 

To  know  why  the  people  went  thus, 

And  why  they  stayed  so  long  within. 


XXXIII 

There  was  one  I  met  upon  the  road 

Who  looked  at  me  with  kind  eyes. 

He  said,  "Show  me  of  your  wares." 

And  this  I  did, 

Holding  forth  one. 

He  said,  "It  is  a  sin." 

Then  held  I  forth  another; 

He  said,  "It  is  a  sin." 

Then  held  I  forth  another; 

He  said,  "It  is  a  sin." 

And  so  to  the  end; 

Always  he  said,  "It  is  a  sin." 

And,  finally,  I  cried  out, 

"But  I  have  none  other." 

Then  did  he  look  at  me 

With  kinder  eyes. 

"Poor  soul!"  he  said. 


XXXIV 

I  stood  upon  a  highway, 

And,  behold,  there  came 

Many  strange  pedlers. 

To  me  each  one  made  gestures. 

Holding  forth  little  images,  saying, 

"This  is  my  pattern  of  God. 

"Now  this  is  the  God  I  prefer." 

But  I  said,  "Hence! 

"Leave  me  with  mine  own, 

"And  take  you  yours  away; 

"I  can't  buy  of  your  patterns  of  God, 

"The  little  Gods  you  may  rightly  prefer." 


XXXV 

A  man  saw  a  ball  of  gold  in  the  sky; 
He  climbed  for  it, 
And  eventually  he  achieved  it — 
It  was  clay. 

Now  this  is  the  strange  part: 

When  the  man  went  to  the  earth 

And  looked  again, 

Lo,  there  was  the  ball  of  gold. 

Now  this  is  the  strange  part: 

It  was  a  ball  of  gold. 

Aye,  by  the  Heavens,  it  was  a  ball  of  gold, 


XXXVI 

I  met  a  seer. 

He  held  in  his  hands 

The  book  of  wisdom. 

"Sir,"  I  addressed  him, 

"Let  me  read." 

"Child—"  he  began. 

"Sir,"  I  said, 

"Think  not  that  I  am  a  child, 

"For  already  I  know  much 

"Of  that  which  you  hold. 

"Aye,  much." 

He  smiled. 

Then  he  opened  the  book 
And  held  it  before  me. — 
Strange  that  I  should  have  grown  so 
suddenly  blind. 


XXXVII 


On  the  horizon  the  peaks  assembled; 
And  as  I  looked, 

The  march  of  the  mountains  began. 
As  they  marched,  they  sang, 
"Aye!  We  come!  We  come!" 


XXXVIII 

The  ocean  said  to  me  once, 
Took! 

'Yonder  on  the  shore 
'Is  a  woman,  weeping. 
'I  have  watched  her. 
'Go  you  and  tell  her  this, — 
'Her  lover  I  have  laid 
'In  cool  green  hall. 
'There  is  wealth  of  golden  sand 
'And  pillars,  coral-red; 
'Two  white  fish  stand  guard  at  his  bier. 

'Tell  her  this 

'And  more, — 

'That  the  king  of  the  seas 

'Weeps  too,  old,  helpless  man. 

'The  bustling  fates 

'Heap  his  hands  with  corpses 

'Until  he  stands  like  a  child, 

'With  surplus  of  toys." 


XXXIX 

The  livid  lightnings  flashed  in  the  clouds; 
The  leaden  thunders  crashed. 
A  worshipper  raised  his  arm. 
"Hearken!   Hearken!  The  voice  of  God!" 

"Not  so,"  said  a  man. 

"The  voice  of  God  whispers  in  the  heart 

"So  softly 
That  the  soul  pauses, 
Making  no  noise, 
And  strives  for  these  melodies, 
Distant,  sighing,  like  faintest  breath, 
And  all  the  being  is  still  to  hear." 


a 


a 


a 


XL 

And  you  love  me? 

I  love  you. 

You  are,  then,  cold  coward. 

Aye;   but,  beloved, 

When  I  strive  to  come  to  you, 

Man's  opinions,  a  thousand  thickets, 

My  interwoven  existence, 

My  life, 

Caught  in  the  stubble  of  the  world 

Like  a  tender  veil, — 

This  stays  me. 

No  strange  move  can  I  make 

Without  noise  of  tearing. 

I  dare  not. 

If  love  loves, 

There  is  no  world 

Nor  word. 

All  is  lost 

Save  thought  of  love 

And  place  to  dream. 

You  love  me? 

I  love  you. 

You  are,  then,  cold  coward. 

Aye;  but  beloved — 


XLI 

Love  walked  alone. 

The  rocks  cut  her  tender  feet, 

And  the  brambles  tore  her  fair  limbs. 

There  came  a  companion  to  her, 

But,  alas,  he  was  no  help, 

For  his  name  was  Heart's  Pain. 


XLII 

I  walked  in  a  desert. 

And  I  cried, 

"Ah,  God,  take  me  from  this  place!" 

A  voice  said,  "It  is  no  desert." 

I  cried,  "Well,  but— 

"The  sand,  the  heat,  the  vacant  horizon." 

A  voice  said,  "It  is  no  desert." 


XLIII 

There  came  whisperings  in  the  winds 
"Good  bye!    Good  bye!" 
Little  voices  called  in  the  darkness: 
"Good  bye!    Good  bye!" 
Then  I  stretched  forth  my  arms. 
"No— no— " 

There  came  whisperings  in  the  wind : 
"Good  bye!    Good  bye!" 
Little  voices  called  in  the  darkness : 
Good  bye!  Good  bye!" 


t( 


XLIV 


I  was  in  the  darkness; 

I  could  not  see  my  words 

Nor  the  wishes  of  my  heart. 

Then  suddenly  there  was  a  great  light- 


a 


Let  me  into  the  darkness  again." 


XLV 

Tradition,  thou  art  for  suckling  children, 
Thou  art  the  enlivening  milk  for  babes  ; 
But  no  meat  for  men  is  in  thee. 
Then  — 
But,  alas,  we  all  are  babes. 


XLVI 

Many  red  devils  ran  from  my  heart 

And  out  upon  the  page, 

They  were  so  tiny 

The  pen  could  mash  them. 

And  many  struggled  in  the  ink. 

It  was  strange 

To  write  in  this  red  muck 

Of  things  from  my  heart. 


XLVII 

"Think  as  I  think,"  said  a  man, 
"Or  you  are  abominably  wicked; 
"You  are  a  toad." 

And  after  I  had  thought  of  it, 
I  said,  "I  will,  then,  be  a  toad." 


XLVIII 

Once  there  was  a  man, — 
Oh,  so  wise! 
In  all  drink 
He  detected  the  bitter, 
And  in  all  touch 
He  found  the  sting. 
At  last  he  cried  thus: 
"There  is  nothing, — 
"No  life, 
"No  joy, 
"No  pain — 

"There  is  nothing  save  opinion, 
And  opinion  be  damned." 


a 


XLIX 

I  stood  musing  in  a  black  world, 

Not  knowing  where  to  direct  my  feet. 

And  I  saw  the  quick  stream  of  men 

Pouring  ceaselessly, 

Filled  with  eager  faces, 

A  torrent  of  desire. 

I  called  to  them, 

"Where  do  you  go?    What  do  you  see?" 

A  thousand  voices  called  to  me. 

A  thousand  fingers  pointed. 

"Look!     Look!     There!" 

I  know  not  of  it. 

But,  lo!  in  the  far  sky  shone  a  radiance 

Ineffable,  divine, — 

A  vision  painted  upon  a  pall; 

And  sometimes  it  was, 

And  sometimes  it  was  not. 

I  hesitated. 

Then  from  the  stream 

Came  roaring  voices, 

Impatient: 

"Look!     Look!    There!" 


So  again  I  saw 


And  leaped,  unhesitant, 
And  struggled  and  fumed 
With  outspread  clutching  fingers. 
The  hard  hills  tore  my  flesh; 


The  ways  bit  my  feet. 

At  last  I  looked  again. 

No  radiance  in  the  far  sky, 

Ineffable,  divine; 

No  vision  painted  upon  a  pall; 

And  always  my  eyes  ached  for  the  light. 

Then  I  cried  in  despair, 

"I  see  nothing!    Oh,  where  do  I  go?" 

The  torrent  turned  again  its  faces : 

"Look!     Look!    There!" 

And  at  the  blindness  of  my  spirit 

They  screamed, 

"Fool!    Fool!    Fool!" 


You  say  you  are  holy, 

And  that 

Because  I  have  not  seen  you  sin, 

Aye,  but  there  are  those 

Who  see  you  sin,  my  friend. 


LI 


A  man  went  before  a  strange  god, — 

The  god  of  many  men,  sadly  wise. 

And  the  deity  thundered  loudly, 

Fat  with  rage,  and  puffing, 

"  Kneel,  mortal,  and  cringe 

"And  grovel  and  do  homage 

"To  my  particularly  sublime  majesty." 

The  man  fled. 

Then  the  man  went  to  another  god, — 

The  god  of  his  inner  thoughts. 

And  this  one  looked  at  him 

With  soft  eyes 

Lit  with  infinite  comprehension, 

And  said,  "My  poor  child !" 


LII 


Why  do  you  strive  for  greatness,  fool? 
Go  pluck  a  bough  and  wear  it. 
It  is  as  sufficing. 

My  lord,  there  are  certain  barbarians 

Who  tilt  their  noses 

As  if  the  stars  were  flowers, 

And  thy  servant  is  lost  among  their  shoe- 
buckles. 

Fain  would  I  have  mine  eyes  even  with 
their  eyes. 

Fool,  go  pluck  a  bough  and  wear  it. 


LIII 


Blustering  god, 

Stamping  across  the  sky 

With  loud  swagger, 

I  fear  you  not. 

No,  though  from  your  highest  heaven 

You  plunge  your  spear  at  my  heart, 

I  fear  you  not. 

No,  not  if  the  blow 

Is  as  the  lightning  blasting  a  tree, 

I  fear  you  not,  puffing  braggart. 

II 

If  thou  can  see  into  my  heart 

That  I  fear  thee  not, 

Thou  wilt  see  why  I  fear  thee  not, 

And  why  it  is  right. 

So  threaten  not,  thou,  with  thy  bloody 

spears, 
Else  thy  sublime  ears  shall  hear  curses. 


in 


Withal,  there  is  one  whom  I  fear; 

I  fear  to  see  grief  upon  that  face. 

Perchance,  Friend,  he  is  not  your  god; 

If  so,  spit  upon  him. 

By  it  you  will  do  no  profanity. 

But  I— 

Ah,  sooner  would  I  die 

Than  see  tears  in  those  eyes  of  my  soul. 


LIV 

"It  was  wrong  to  do  this/'  said  the  angel 
"You  should  live  like  a  flower, 
"Holding  malice  like  a  puppy, 
"Waging  war  like  a  lambkin." 

"Not  so,"  quoth  the  man 
Who  had  no  fear  of  spirits; 
"It  is  only  wrong  for  angels 
"Who  can  live  like  the  flowers, 
"Holding  malice  like  the  puppies, 
"Waging  war  like  the  lambkins." 


LV 


A  man  toiled  on  a  burning  road, 
Never  resting. 

Once  he  saw  a  fat,  stupid  ass 
Grinning  at  him  from  a  green  place. 
The  man  cried  out  in  rage, 
"Ah!    Do  not  deride  me,  fool! 
"I  know  you — 
"All  day  stuffing  your  belly, 
"  Burying  your  heart 
"In  grass  and  tender  sprouts: 
"It  will  not  suffice  you." 
But  the  ass  only  grinned  at  him  from 
the  green  place. 


LVI 

A  man  feared  that  he  might  find  an 

assassin; 
Another  that  he  might  find  a  victim. 
One  was  more  wise  than  the  other. 


LVII 

With  eye  and  with  gesture 
You  say  you  are  holy. 
I  say  you  lie; 
For  I  did  see  you 
Draw  away  your  coats 
From  the  sin  upon  the  hands 
Of  a  little  child. 
Liar! 


LVIII 

The  sage  lectured  brilliantly. 
Before  him,  two  images: 
"Now  this  one  is  a  devil, 
"And  this  one  is  me." 
He  turned  away. 
Then  a  cunning  pupil 
Changed  the  positions. 
Turned  the  sage  again: 
"Now  this  one  is  a  devil, 
"And  this  one  is  me." 
The  pupils  sat,  all  grinning, 
And  rejoiced  in  the  game. 
But  the  sage  was  a  sage. 


LIX 

Walking  in  the  sky, 

A  man  in  strange  black  garb 

Encountered  a  radiant  form. 

Then  his  steps  were  eager; 

Bowed  he  devoutly. 

"My  Lord,"  said  he. 

But  the  spirit  knew  him  not. 


LX 


Upon  the  road  of  my  life, 

Passed  me  many  fair  creatures, 

Clothed  all  in  white,  and  radiant. 

To  one,  finally,  I  made  speech: 

"Who  art  thou?" 

But  she,  like  the  others, 

Kept  cowled  her  face, 

And  answered  in  haste,  anxiously, 

"I  am  Good  Deed,  forsooth; 

"You  have  often  seen  me." 

"Not  uncowled,"  I  made  reply. 

And  with  rash  and  strong  hand, 

Though  she  resisted, 

I  drew  away  the  veil 

And  gazed  at  the  features  of  Vanity 

She,  shamefaced,  went  on; 

And  after  I  had  mused  a  time, 

I  said  of  myself, 

"Fool!" 


LXI 

I 
There  was  a  man  and  a  woman 
Who  sinned. 

Then  did  the  man  heap  the  punishment 
All  upon  the  head  of  her, 
And  went  away  gayly. 

n 

There  was  a  man  and  a  woman 

Who  sinned. 

And  the  man  stood  with  her. 

As  upon  her  head,  so  upon  his, 

Fell  blow  and  blow, 

And  all  people  screaming,  "Fool!" 

He  was  a  brave  heart. 

in 

He  was  a  brave  heart. 

Would  you  speak  with  him,  friend  ? 

Well,  he  is  dead, 

And  there  went  your  opportunity. 

Let  it  be  your  grief 

That  he  is  dead 

And  your  opportunity  gone; 

For,  in  that,  you  were  a  coward. 


LXII 

There  was  a  man  who  lived  a  life  of  fire. 

Even  upon  the  fabric  of  time, 

Where  purple  becomes  orange 

And  orange  purple, 

This  life  glowed, 

A  dire  red  stain,  indelible; 

Yet  when  he  was  dead, 

He  saw  that  he  had  not  lived. 


LXIII 

There  was  a  great  cathedral. 

To  solemn  songs, 

A  white  procession 

Moved  toward  the  altar. 

The  chief  man  there 

Was  erect,  and  bore  himself  proudly. 

Yet  some  could  see  him  cringe, 

As  in  a  place  of  danger, 

Throwing  frightened  glances  into  the  air, 

A-start  at  threatening  faces  of  the  past. 


LXIV 

Friend,  your  white  beard  sweeps  the  ground. 

Why  do  you  stand,  expectant? 

Do  you  hope  to  see  it 

In  one  of  your  withered  days? 

With  your  old  eyes 

Do  you  hope  to  see 

The  triumphal  march  of  Justice? 

Do  not  wait,  friend 

Take  your  white  beard 

And  your  old  eyes 

To  more  tender  lands. 


LXV 

Once,  I  knew  a  fine  song, 

— It  is  true,  believe  me, — 

It  was  all  of  birds, 

And  I  held  them  in  a  basket; 

When  I  opened  the  wicket, 

Heavens !    They  all  flew  away. 

I  cried,  "Come  back,  little  thoughts !" 

But  they  only  laughed. 

They  flew  on 

Until  they  were  as  sand 

Thrown  between  me  and  the  sky. 


LXVI 

If  I  should  cast  off  this  tattered  coat, 
And  go  free  into  the  mighty  sky; 
If  I  should  find  nothing  there 
But  a  vast  blue, 
Echoless,  ignorant, — 
What  then? 


LXVII 

God  lay  dead  in  Heaven; 

Angels  sang  the  hymn  of  the  end; 

Purple  winds  went  moaning, 

Their  wings  drip-dripping 

With  blood 

That  fell  upon  the  earth. 

It,  groaning  thing, 

Turned  black  and  sank. 

Then  from  the  far  caverns 

Of  dead  sins 

Came  monsters,  livid  with  desire. 

They  fought, 

Wrangled  over  the  world, 

A  morsel. 

But  of  all  sadness  this  was  sad, — 

A  woman's  arms  tried  to  shield 

The  head  of  a  sleeping  man 

From  the  jaws  of  the  final  beast. 


LXVIII 

A  spirit  sped 

Through  spaces  of  night; 

And  as  he  sped,  he  called, 

"God!    God!" 

He  went  through  valleys 

Of  black  death-slime, 

Ever  calling, 

"God!     God!" 

Their  echoes 

From  crevice  and  cavern 

Mocked  him: 

"God!     God!     God!" 

Fleetly  into  the  plains  of  space 

He  went,  ever  calling, 

"God!     God!" 

Eventually,  then,  he  screamed, 

Mad  in  denial, 

"Ah,  there  is  no  God!" 

A  swift  hand, 

A  sword  from  the  sky, 

Smote  him, 

And  he  was  dead. 


{ 


